First Christmas
by Kay the Cricketed
Summary: [ChristopherDavid SLASH AU] They spend their first Christmas running around and panicking. Short, fluffy, and entirely too late for the holidays.


_First Christmas_

By Kay

Disclaimer: Don't own EW, though sometimes I think I'm working off the debt for it.

Author's Notes: Christopher/David SLASH established, a completely Alternative Universe setting for some sopping holiday fluff that's several months too late. Enjoy. Guilty pleasures are always the best.

* * *

They spend their first Christmas together panicking.

The decision is made early in the game, way before Thanksgiving—David's mother lives in a house that is barely big enough even after he's moved out, and according to David (who gets disjointed phone calls maybe once a month that eventually lead to them scraping together money for a caller ID), she's got a new boyfriend that won't take kindly to the intrusion. Neither does David, however, and it takes one look at the pinched whiteness of his face for Christopher to pick up his cell and call up Mrs. Hitchcock to inform her they'd have an extra guest this holiday.

"So what are we?" David asks, rather bravely (he thought).

Christopher doesn't exactly want to think about it, either, so he just shrugs and goes about digging out the battered suitcases they've stashed in the hallway closet. Most of them are brown, but he throws the ugly floral one on David's side of the bed. It only seems fair.

They have a month to figure it out, anyway.

Of course, a month longer means a month longer to procrastinate, and the day before their flight is supposed to leave from California to Chicago on Christmas Eve, Christopher is frantically trying to get all his shopping done for the family (his little brother _would_ want the most obscure video game in all existence) and getting half the house packed in two suitcases, one of which is suspiciously floral in design (and he's going to kill David after his bloodlust for mall salespeople abates). Except he can't kill David because, bless the bastard and thank god for stick-in-the-mud, neurotic boyfriends, David has his stuff already set up by the door and the airline tickets stuffed in the car's glove box. He's also bought a beautifully decorated apple pie from the bakery down the block for Christopher's family—insurance, he claims.

"Bribery. Well-executed bribery," Christopher mutters, and pushes him against the door for a festive, pre-holiday groping.

In any case, an hour before the plane leaves Christopher finally manages to arrange everything to his liking and locks all the windows. David's already in the car (he refuses to let Christopher drive after the whole mailbox diabolical) and pushing the horn every five minutes in impatience. They make it halfway to the airport before realizing they forgot to lock the door, and have to call their neighbors to ask them to use the key hidden in the cliché corner under the welcome mat.

"While I'm at it, I can probably grab the eighteen DVDs Christopher borrowed and never returned three months ago," Jalil says dryly, and David has to argue with Christopher that no, they will not turn the car around, and no, that doesn't constitute as breaking and entering because there is no breaking going on, just entering.

They make it to the airport and dodge human traffic, frantically pushing their bags ahead of them, only to discover the flight is delayed by an hour. (Christopher spends the time leering at the magazine choices on the tables while David argues with the airline employees over the integrity of America or something. He doesn't exactly listen.) When they do get on, the carry-on bags won't fit because of Christopher's insistence on bringing half their CD collection, and the people behind them keep kicking David's seat. The flight isn't too long, but David spends most of it sleeping restlessly on Christopher's shoulder, slumped with his dark hair falling over his eyes.

Christopher reaches out to prod him hard about halfway there because it's too warm and his arm is falling asleep. But when he sees the soft shadows under David's eyes and listens to the rattling sound of his breathing, he changes his mind and carefully tucks his cheap airline blanket over David's shoulder. When the guy wakes up, Christopher thinks, he's going to tease him about being too paranoid. It's not like the Hitchcocks will eat him alive—well, except for Christopher, but David never complains about that.

David wakes up about half an hour from landing, and Christopher proceeds to tell him exactly that—and _all_ of that. He's just glad he won't have to explain the bruised ribs to his mother later.

David becomes five steps away from a nervous wreck as they exit and head towards baggage claim, and it doesn't even take much for Christopher to convince him that making out in the full-length airport bathroom stalls is a good idea… just to calm each other down, of course. Well, he doesn't so much convince as simply push David into one and lock the door behind them, muffling any protest with his mouth and roughly shoving a hand down David's pants, but he gets away with it. David complains later about the cold metal wall and the indentions in his neck from the goddamned coat hook, but Christopher considers it the best Christmas present ever, and when he says so David turns light pink and doesn't even punch him.

It's a good thing they did _something_, anyway, because as soon as they meet up with Christopher's parents his mind goes completely blank and he ends up introducing David as "his roommate and occasional drinking buddy."

"Except I don't drink," David says, and plasters a smile on his face as he shakes their hands. Christopher's busy cursing the idea of separate bedrooms.

At least his mom and dad take to his "roommate and occasional drinking buddy" pretty damn well. By the time they've lugged everything to the car, David and his father are chatting about some semi-important basketball game that Christopher wouldn't be caught dead watching, and his mother is neatly impressed that her son knows a man with actual manners. (David holds all the doors open for her—Christopher swoops in and mutters, "You never do that for _me_," in his ear on the way out, earning another scathing glare.)

So the rest of the night is like this—Christopher and his dad making lame jokes, David and Mrs. Hitchcock secretly rolling their eyes up front, and Mark, Christopher's little brother who stayed in the car to play video games, demanding to know if David had ever won at _Star Wars: Battlefield._ David hasn't even heard of it; strike one.

They put David up in the guestroom. It smells like mothballs and the comforter is a faded pink—usually it's Christopher's cousin Amanda that stays over. Christopher's already plotting the best places to step down the hallway to make a soundless journey at night without anyone else knowing. David sees the look in his eye, scowls, and hisses, "You try it, I'll strangle you with the tinsel."

"We could work that in the schedule, yeah."

"_Christopher."_

Christmas Eve, David helps set the table with their good silverware and plates (they see daylight out of the cupboard twice a year in the Hitchcock household) and Christopher tries not to watch him too much, or too closely. It's harder than he thought it would be, because so often Christopher just wants to loop an arm around David's shoulders or touch his face when he frowns thoughtfully, trying to remember something. Except it's even worse because David seems to be thinking the same thing—when Christopher is icing the Christmas sugar cookies with Mark and he's sucking on his thumb to taste the frosting, his eyes look up and meet David's, dark and intent and wanting. And that's tough, really tough, because it makes Christopher's mouth go dry and his skin feel all funny and tingly, still six months after it first happened, and he's wondering what would happen if David took his hand and slid his tongue over Christopher's fingers.

Not the kind of thoughts he wants to have in front of his little brother.

Dinner's better because it feels good, being able to look around the table and (though Christopher will never admit it upon pain of death) see all the people he considers important together. David discusses the integrity of America with his mother, a lawyer, which is a very bad idea. His father makes bad jokes. Mark spills the cranberry juice all over the brand new tablecloth. Christopher steals both Mark and David's sugar cookies and gets away with it. He kind of doesn't want to leave when it's over because it's warm at the table, kind of glowing and nice, being able to laugh at Dad's joke about the bench paint and then glancing over to see David's face, sort of soft and smiling, goofy even, though he'll never say it to David's face.

Besides, he probably looks pretty goddamn goofy himself. His mouth hurts from stretching wide with his grin.

And at night when they're all asleep and Mark's music videos in his room are playing loud enough to mask his footsteps, anyway, Christopher sneaks over to the guestroom and slips inside. David's awake; he's waiting for him in the dark, rolling his eyes but scooting over to make room. Christopher slides under the covers.

"Your feet," David mutters sourly, burying his face in the worn fabric of Christopher's favorite t-shirt, "are really damn cold."

"Sorry," though he's not, "they turn down the heat at night because most good little boys are in bed."

"If they catch us, you're the one explaining." But David doesn't move, just throws a heavy arm over his waist and makes a half-sigh sound that tickles Christopher's collarbone. And right now, Christopher admits, he wouldn't care if he had to explain or anything because this feels like it should—just them and the snow drifting down outside the window, the warmth of David's heartbeat thudding lazily against his own.

He doesn't remember falling asleep, but Christopher wakes up a mouthful of David's hair and the sun beaming in his eyes. He squints at the white, fumbling with the covers and looking for the alarm clock that isn't there.

"Go t'sleep," David mumbles, squeezing his stomach and running sleepy, light touches down his side. He's not entirely awake. "S'too early."

"They'll look for me," Christopher says, not really thinking about it.

"So let them."

Later, Christopher thinks dryly, he's going to throw those words back in David's face. But for now, he closes his eyes and decides that this is how he wants to spend every Christmas after today.

_End_


End file.
